the sun and the snow
by maxdepax
Summary: Snowheart had dreamed of being a warrior from the day she set foot in the forest, and, as with all things, she made it happen with unbridled enthusiasm and a desperation to prove herself. And from kittypet to Clan cat, her best friend is there to remember and recount it all.


**When I was a kid, I** ** _adored_** **Warriors. I got hit in the face hard by nostalgia, and that combined with an old hand-written story baby-me was drafting is what caused this revamped thing to happen. Contains OCs, and probably doesn't line up with some events in the book - it's been forever since I've read 'em, ha. This is just for fun! (Sundance and Snowheart belong to me, 'kay? Unless you also have OCs with that name, in which case... rad.)**

* * *

There are a lot of things to say about the Clans, from the boundaries to the battles to the tense relationships from group to group. The strict rules tying every cat down to a life lived by code. The way they get too ambitious, accuse the wrong person, disown a few innocents, but somehow regroup and get their act together, because everything has to come full circle.

Ha.

I could go on. But my lifespan is only so long, and I'd rather spend it on things that matter.

I don't have a Clan. I don't have anything binding me to the forest, to the river, to the marsh or the meadow. My territory is all of theirs. I cross the Thunderpath without fear or reverence, whenever the mood strikes me. It's unheard of, for the warriors, but not to me. Not that it matters much.

It's unheard of for an outsider like me to know so much about them in the first place.

The sunlight hits the ground in scatters, landing on leaves and on trunks and on soil. It's quiet – quiet enough for me to hear the soft breathing of the mouse. Quiet and quick and so, so tiny in such a large world. Not tiny enough to escape my notice, though.

I drop into a crouch, paws moving slowly as I carry myself closer and closer to the little rodent. My claws brush the earth and I can't _quite_ stifle the growl that rises in my throat… Which is exactly what alerts the mouse to my presence. It wastes no time in scuttling away, squeaking in alarm, far too quickly for me to catch.

Well.

Slinking around is not my specialty, I'll admit that.

I sit back on my haunches and huff. That's alright – it's only to be expected with my lack of grace. Back when Snowheart and I were together, she would catch the mice and the voles with her speed; _I'd_ go after badgers.

It's an innocent thought, that one. _Back when Snowheart and I…_ I'm not ready for the cold little stutter that pulses in my chest, or the ache that has me shaking my head to try to clear it. That wound is still fresh. I still miss her.

I know it as soon as my paws start to take me that I'm being pulled back by nostalgia again. And I know it isn't worth my time – there's nothing there for me. Nothing there of her, either.

But that doesn't stop me from going back to the outskirts of the ThunderClan camp.

I weave around trees, jumping over rocks and logs and scattering birds like snow-spray, and it hits me: the nostalgia. I remember this. I used to do this. _We_ used to do this.

I slow my careless lope into a quiet pace as I near the camp, bending my head forward to take in the scent. Smells the same. Almost the same. There are some cats that I don't quite recognize, and even with my sense of smell, I'm not quite close enough to make them out.

What did I expect, coming here? Do I make my way into the clearing? Do I greet ThunderClan with a good-natured, "Hello! You don't know me very well, but you know my best friend…"

If Snowheart were there, she'd already be bounding out of the bramble, meowing excitedly.

 _"_ _Sundance, you mousebrain, you finally came to visit!"_ She'd say it just like that, tail sticking up, swaying as she walked. A purr rumbling in her throat. No indication that she could take on a fox if she really wanted.

Ha. That would be a nice greeting. I'd certainly appreciate it.

But then I catch the fresh scent of a cat, just a few paces away, and it's spiked with alarm. I've already been here too long.

Without wasting a minute, I whirl around, ears pinned to the back of my head as the cries start.

"Dog! There's a _dog!"_

I burst back through the trees, the way I came, and I can hear the hisses of a returning patrol of warriors. I toss back a growl of my own, and it's half-directed at myself – this was too close. Too close a call for a taste of the past.

What did I expect? That somehow, cats would just forget their age-old animosity toward dogs? That just because _I_ liked cats, that they'd magically return the favor?

I don't know. I don't know what I expected.

But not every cat is like Snowheart.

The warriors are fast, but I've got more stamina – I keep running, and running, until my breath comes in painful gasps and the Thunderpath is warm beneath my paws.

I doubt they'd follow me this far. And when I turn to look, there are no glittering chatoyant eyes in the shadows of the trees. I'm not worth that much of their effort, but I know that I won't be able to go back for a while now.

Padding to the side of the Thunderpath, I find a divot in the earth and curl up, resting my head on my flank.

The warriors.

Snowheart had dreamt of being one, and I figured that anything that could make her light up like that was a good thing. They were strong, and they had honor, and they could never truly be beaten: that's what she told me. That's what she'd wanted.

Only they could be beaten, and I'd seen it happen. Only I'd been watching these woods for quite a while, and I'd borne witness to all sorts of catastrophes. (Ha.)

Maybe that's why I hang around, beyond the fact that I have nowhere else to go – because if anything happens again, I can protect them.

I can guard them the way I failed to guard Snowheart.

That makes sense to me.


End file.
